


Even in Sleep

by Calacious



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angsty thoughts with fluff, Jim's Point of View, M/M, Past Relationships Mentioned - Freeform, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 20:41:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5470196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calacious/pseuds/Calacious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim wonders how he got to this place with Harvey, but does it really matter when the man has his back no matter what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even in Sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iphys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iphys/gifts).



> A treat written to fulfill this part of your request: "I also accidentally started shipping Jim Gordon/Harvey Bullock, so that's cool." (I kind of ship them, too)
> 
> Hope you like this. 
> 
> **Disclaimer:** I do not own the characters of this work of fiction and am not making a profit, monetary or otherwise, through writing this.

Harvey isn't exactly Jim's type. He's definitely not the person Jim thought he'd wind up sharing a bed with. Especially given that they'd gotten off to such a rocky start, neither liking, nor trusting each other. Jim thinking that he'd be able to keep his hands clean in a city that was dirtier than any he'd ever set foot in before. Harvey knowing that it was just a matter of time before Jim's hands became sullied with someone's blood, and he'd be the one left to clean up after him.

For the first several months of their partnership, Jim had honestly thought they'd end up killing each other; never had it crossed his mind that they'd end up in bed together. Or that it would be such a good fit for the both of them. 

Hindsight, it turns out, isn't twenty-twenty. It's blinding, and poetic, and it metes out justice in a way that the police, lawyers, judges, and a jury of one's peers will never be able to. 

It's funny. Jim can count on one hand the number of men he's slept with. Harvey's not his first, but Jim thinks he might be his last, provided that the man doesn't end up dead in some dank alley, head rotting in a rank puddle of blood and polluted water.

Jim likes women. Loves waking up next to them after a vigorous session of lovemaking. Likes the way their supple skin spreads itself out across a curvy canvas. The smooth feel of silky hair falling through his fingers like water, stuck in the corner of his mouth as he wakes groggy, and sated, body heavy, tongue chasing after the taste of apricots or berries. 

But he likes this, too. Waking up spooned with a man who's all hard lines, and sinewy muscles, fingers digging into a jutting hipbone, half-hard cock pressed into the crevasse of his ass. Likes the way that Harvey's whiskers tickle the back of his sweat-slick neck, the possessive way he's thrown an arm across Jim's chest, keeping him close in a way that never happens with a woman. Ass aching. The bitter remnants of beer and whiskey on his tongue. The feeling that he's an equal partner, even if it's Harvey that tops. 

What they have is not exactly love. It's something different. Something safer. Harvey makes Jim feel...secure, and like a real man.  

He'd loved Barbara. Still does. Will probably always love her. But he'd never been on equal footing with Barbara. Had always felt like a drunk sailor on a storm-tossed sea after they'd made love (fucked like two jackrabbits in Spring). He'd never quite gotten his sea legs with her. Never felt like he was good enough to satisfy her insatiable hunger.

She was a sex kitten. A veritable nymphomaniac whose appetite never seemed to be satisfied. She always left her mark on him -- fingernails carving a bloody path down his back; dark bruises that no turtleneck could ever hope to cover. He'd worn those battle scars with pride, tamping down on the urge to wince whenever someone patted him on the back.

Lee was...is beautiful. He'd loved the sounds that she'd made when they'd made love. They'd remain with him for days afterward. The memory echo of them was enough for him to get off on. 

He'd loved the way her dark hair had fanned his face, brushed against his chest as she'd ridden his cock hard enough to make him wonder why it wasn't smoking, because it burned and ached and was so damn hard that he often thought he'd never come. She was a tease. She'd ridden his cock harder even than Barbara had, as though she was trying to break it; break him. 

He'd always felt a little shell-shocked afterward, with the way that she'd turn all tender and caring as though trying to make up for leaving him saddle-sore. 

She'd left her marks on him, too. Bloody crescent moons on the inside of his thighs; teeth rings on the underside of his chin, his collarbone, his shoulder blade.

Maybe that's why Barbara and Lee had butted heads when they'd first met. Each of them trying to mark their territory on Jim's skin. Vying vixens after a pound of his flesh. A pissing contest of sorts. If women competed in such things.

Jim shudders at the memories. Closes his eyes, breathes deeply of aftershave and male musk. Twines his fingers through those that are resting on his hip.

They'd been drunk the first time that they'd fucked. Jim had followed Harvey home, fallen face first onto the man's bed. Firm mattress beneath his knees, pillow beneath his hips, Harvey at his back.

Getting out of their clothes had left them winded. Jim's pants and underwear hadn't made it much past his knees, his belt had ended up on the other side of the room, flung there by one of them. 

Harvey'd given up on shucking his pants and boxers down past his thighs. 

Their shirts proved to be too much effort, as had their shoes, so they'd left them on. 

It had been messy and inelegant. Harvey's blunt fingers working their way into Jim's ass, loosening him, making him weep and beg for more. Deeper. Harder. Faster. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

They'd come together, like they'd been fucking for years, and though it was imperfect, it was so damn good that Jim had seen a goddamn universe sparking out behind his closed eyelids. 

Harvey, spent, panting and wheezing as though he'd run a marathon, had pulled out of Jim, collapsed and rolled over so he wouldn't crush him, pulled him close, so that Jim's back was to his chest, and it wasn't as awkward as Jim had feared it would be. It was kind of nice. Comforting. 

Instead of feeling like less of a man, Jim had felt invigorated. Ass stretched and aching in a way that made him feel complete, like maybe he'd finally met that 'better half' that was mentioned by married couples. 

Snorting at the thought that anyone, even he, would consider Harvey his better half, Jim tucks his toes between Harvey's calves, relishing the warmth of them, ignoring the sleepy grunt that his cold toes elicit from his lover. Pulling Harvey's arm around his waist, the blankets tighter around the two of them, Jim settles back against his partner, steals a little more of his warmth, because it's been one of those days, and he's just woken from that recurring nightmare he has about losing Barbara, her hand slipping from his like water through a sieve. 

Jim finds comfort in the way that Harvey's half-hard cock is nestled in the crevasse of his ass, and the possessive way that he clutches Jim to him whenever Jim shifts in his sleep. Even in sleep, Harvey has his back. 

 


End file.
